


Reinventing the Wheel

by helloshepard



Series: helloshepard's TRANSFORMERS fics (2020- ? ) [22]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blackmail, Canon-Typical Behavior, M/M, Mad Scientists, Medical Procedures, Past Prowl/Tarantulas - Freeform, Past Shockwave/Orion Pax - Freeform, canon typical gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28473210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: Written for the lovely shapeofmetal/cybernetic-oreo, who wanted Shockwave/Tarantulas. Secret Solenoid fic.
Relationships: Shockwave/Tarantulas (Transformers)
Series: helloshepard's TRANSFORMERS fics (2020- ? ) [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789297
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20
Collections: Secret Solenoid '20-'21





	Reinventing the Wheel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CyanideOreos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanideOreos/gifts).



The debris crunched under Shockwave’s boots as he made his way through the remnants of the city that had once been Uraya.

Uraya, known for its Decepticon-leaning neutrals, had obviously not been deemed important enough by the Autobot regime, nor its figurehead Starscream, to warrant anything but the most basic acknowledgement. Shockwave doubted it would take more than a few planetary rotations before Uraya went the way of Rodion’s red light district before it became colloquially known as the Dead End.

  
  


Shockwave knew about Mesothulas’ ill-conceived romance with the Autobot Prowl. He would never say it aloud, but he had participated in his own unfortunate liaison with his own Autobot, one a hundred times more dangerous than Prowl.

Once, Shockwave had hedged his bets, putting his faith in Optimus and Zeta—his  _ hope,  _ he had called them. Cybertron’s salvation.

Foolish. He should have understood then, as he did now, that Cybertron’s salvation lay not in pompous leaders living at the whim of an outdated religious trinket, but in its greatest minds. So many of them had not survived the war, falling victim to bigger, brutish mechs or worse—their own ideals.

This one, at least, had survived.

He and Mesothulas—young, brash Mesothulas who always carried his chic-chips on his outer armor—had gotten along well enough, at the beginning. After the improvements made to Shockwave’s frame and processor, he and Mesothulas’ relationship had become splintered, ending with Mesothulas returning to Uraya, and Shockwave to Kaon.

Shockwave had kept tabs on the mech. He could have recognized Mesothulas’ inventions from a world away. He was surprised Mesothulas had fallen in with Prowl—Prowl’s harsh, unyielding nature had not seemed like the kind of traits that would appeal to Mesothulas, but Shockwave had learned long ago that predicting a mech whose actions were based on emotions was nearly impossible. 

Shockwave followed the faint splatters of energon. The trail had appeared in the middle of an alley, one that dead ended in a pile of rubble.

He knew an entrance to a laboratory when he saw one. The millions of years he spent plotting and avoiding major universal events had given him plenty of time to perfect numerous scanning and decryption protocols. Prior to his perfection at Lobe’s hands, he might have found it amusing to think that Soundwave, self-proclaimed master of subterfuge and blackmail, would have been stunned into silence at the sheer amount and capabilities of his inventions.

Shockwave allowed himself a moment to think about Soundwave. Foolish, idealistic Soundwave, a mech who wholeheartedly believed in the Decepticon Cause with a capital-C. Soundwave had died trying to stop him.

Clearly, he had failed.

His scan complete, Shockwave checked the readout in his HUD, which revealed a door just behind the pile of rubble.

Uncaring for the noise he might be making, Shockwave pushed the debris aside. To his surprise, the door was ajar—as always, he had been correct. This was indeed a laboratory, one constructed to his former mentee’s peculiar specifications.

Laying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the floor was a pile of energon and organic material was Mesothulas.

Now he was Tarantulas, Shockwave supposed. His former student’s breaths rasped in the stale air. As Shockwave approached, something cold and wet hit his pedes. 

He looked down. The energon had spread out into a puddle around Tarantulas’ body, soaking the rough stone floor. 

An initial scan provided limited information on Tarantulas’ status. Without a more thorough examination, Shockwave had no idea whether or not his former student was aware of his surroundings—or aware of him.

He looked forward to finding out.

Shockwave knelt and collected Tarantulas in his arms. Tarantulas coughed, a wet, sucking sound that seemed to indicate his vents were being flooded with energon and whatever organic fluids Tarantulas had seen fit to augment his body with.

He deposited Tarantulas on one of the examination tables. It was a surface better suited to unsterile engineering work, but it would have to do. Shockwave did not want to dirty his own laboratories with Tarantulas’ broken body and oozing fluids. If his former student had not thought to supply his hideout with adequate medical supplies, well. Shockwave had other plans, other mechs he might approach. Mesothulas—Tarantulas—was simply at the top of the list. 

He was proven right when he pulled open one of the lab’s storage compartments and was rewarded with an extensive cache of medical supplies, ranging from nutrient-infused medgrade to a scanner he remembered going missing a month after Mesothulas had been invited to study at Shockwave’s academy.

Again, his scanner chimed, and again, Shockwave consulted his HUD: his scan of the laboratory was complete. As he expected, his former student kept a well-stocked lab. It was not organized in any way Shockwave could easily understand: Meso—Tarantulas—had always exhibited a talent for disorder.

Shockwave went back to Tarantulas. The mech hadn’t moved since Shockwave deposited him on the slab, save to continue dripping energon everywhere. In the quiet of the lab, Shockwave could hear the other mech’s labored ventilations, sticky and wet as energon was pushed through his vents.

Tarantulas’ visor flickered.

Shockwave triggered the autorelease on Tarantulas’ medical ports, then went back to collect an armful of medical supplies. When he turned back to face Tarantulas, the mech’s visor was online.

Shockwave did not alert Tarantulas to his presence. If his former student was truly worth this effort, he would be more than capable of decrypting Shockwave’s identification tags. He went about attaching Tarantulas to the sensors and equipment he had brought over, being careful not to unnecessarily jostle the numerous wounds that had nearly killed him.

His only indication that Tarantulas was fully online was the quiet  _ click. _

He withdrew, sensors alerting him to a foreign object now attached to the armor on his forearm.

Tarantulas’ vocalizer crackled. He said something unintelligible, voice laced with static.

Shockwave watched, impassive. He examined the thing—it was barely half the size of his palm, securely attached to his armor. A bomb? Some kind of neural controller? He detected no signal emitting from the device, but that did not mean there was none. 

Shockwave supposed it was his turn to speak. He had not intended to waste the time or energon with introductions or shallow comforts, but if Tarantulas intended on threatening his life…

“It has been some time,” Shockwave said. “Mesothulas.”

_ “Hyeh.” _ Tarantulas’ visor flickered. “Taking a break from ending the universe to reconnect with an old student, eh?”

“Not out of sentiment.

“Of course not.” Shockwave had to admire the way Tarantulas’ mandibles moved, exposing his mouth as the mech spat a wad of energon. He would have to ask him how he managed to program the organic material to move so naturally.

“Have you ever seen a Korlornian data slug consume a Cybertronian’s brain module?” Tarantulas appeared to be grinning. Shockwave’s limited emotional recognition matrix could not identify the emotion his former protege was expressing with that grin, but he was intrigued all the same.

“I have not.”

“Heh.” Tarantulas lifted one of the spindly appendages and tapped the data slug attached to Shockwave’s arm. “Would you like to find out?”

“Blackmail is unbecoming, Tarantulas. Surely I taught you better than that.”

“Picked it up from a formerly dear—"Tarantulas coughed out another wad of energon and made a noise that sounded like _ mech,  _ then spoke up, “—associate. Now: help me get myself together and I’ll see about removing that nasty little slug. Hyeh.”

“You have not heard my proposal,” Shockwave said. “There is no need for threats.”

“I don’t care about your little war,” Tarantulas spat. “Never did.”

“Megatron’s pointless conflict does not matter to me,” Shockwave said dryly. “And it never did.”

“Yet you joined them.” Tarantulas’ visor was fully online now, shining bright in the dull auxiliary lights. “Followed your little band of outliers—what were their names? Glitch? Amp?”

“I seem to recall intercepting an intelligence report detailing your involvement with the Autobots.”

“One Autobot,” Tarantulas snapped. “Barely an Autobot at that—and look where it got me.”

“I see.” Shockwave picked up a welder and consulted his scanner. This meandering, circular conversation was pointless: Tarantulas would be persuaded to join Shockwave, or he would not. Shockwave would finish repairing him either way; Tarantulas’ machinations with the Korlornian data slug had seen to that. “By my estimations, your repairs will take approximately two full days to complete.”

Tarantulas cackled.

  
  
  


Shockwave had always craved routine. He found himself slipping neatly into the comforting sameness of field repairs, aided by the detailed schematics Tarantulas had happily provided. That he had set a program to isolate and neutralize the data slug was unspoken, but mutually understood.

It seemed Tarantulas had also been experiencing the same isolation Shockwave had prior to their reunion: as his frame was slowly repaired, Tarantulas became more animated, eagerly explaining the (ingenious, Shockwave had to admit) ways he had integrated the organic material so seamlessly with his own form. More than once, Shockwave caught himself watching the soft urticating hairs on Tarantulas’ chassis move in the soft breeze.

“The slug must be getting hungry,” Tarantulas murmured, once. “Can you feel it?”

“No,” Shockwave admitted, which was the truth. His firewalls had failed to detect any trace of the data slug, or its path as it burrowed its way towards Shockwave’s brain module, but that did not mean it was not there.

Tarantulas laughed.

  
  


Shockwave explained his plan, in fits and starts at first, too mindful of Tarantulas’ even gaze as he regarded Shockwave. His explanation was interrupted only by Tarantulas demanding clarification as he used one spindly leg to type up notes on a datapad.

Tarantulas agreed, readily. Shockwave had managed to talk him out of a single demand (keeping Prowl alive to  _ suffer) _ in exchange for a more easily achievable demand (killing Prowl slowly, with plenty of suffering), but knew when to yield in negotiations. As long as he kept him under control, Tarantulas could have the Autobot Springer. 

“And what do you want out of this?” Tarantulas had asked. “I refuse to believe that you are solely doing this for ‘logic’. Decepticon break your spark, hyeh?”

“Hardly.” Someone like Tarantulas would not comprehend his reasoning, even if he understood it fully. Better to allow the mech to believe that something other than pure logic drove his actions. 

Still, Shockwave wished otherwise. 

  
  


“There is no Korlornian data slug,” Shockwave said.

Tarantulas laughed. It was a long, delighted sound that wormed its way into Shockwave’s spark and made it skip. He hopped off the recharge slab and skipped over to where Shockwave stood. With a deft, practiced move, he pulled the casing off of Shockwave’s forearm and tossed it aside, then pulled Shockwave’s helm down for the sloppiest kiss Shockwave had ever experienced.

“Smart mech.” Tarantulas bumped his helm affectionately against Shockwave’s, then pulled away, though Shockwave noted with no small amount of delight that their fingers were still entwined. “Now—shall we go end the universe?”


End file.
